


Rain

by idlesuperstar



Series: The Life And Death Of Sugar Candy [2]
Category: Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), Powell and Pressburger - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlesuperstar/pseuds/idlesuperstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was itchy in his own skin, but couldn’t see why. The rain, of course. Cabin fever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place about a week after 'Two Of Spades'. 
> 
> Series notes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36980) 
> 
> A note on the German: most of what Theo says in German he manages to translate the gist of into English for Clive's benefit, bless him. But there are (some) footnote translations, if that floats your boat.

Clive startled awake, heart pounding. The morning bell. He rolled onto his back, pulse racing. Usually he woke well before it, used to military hours. But he’d slept restlessly, and the bell had shaken him out of a strange, muddled dream of -  _Theo_. Theo climbing in at his window, in the middle of the night. It had felt uncannily real, as if it were actually happening, until he woke up. And yet odd. Theo shaking him awake, telling him it was time to do his shoulder exercises, ignoring any protests. And then testing his German, and being cross with him for shirking. Clive shook his head, fuddled. They had argued, in his dream, and the mood of it was lingering, even though his heart had calmed. Madness, he thought. He sat up, pushing the disarrayed bedclothes down. The nurse would be along to look at his dressing and here he was still in his nightshirt. A bad start to the day. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to settle his mood as well. A knock on the door, already. Dammit!

“Come in” he shouted, disgruntled. 

“Good Morning, Herr Candy!” and oh dear, it was Nurse Erna with her particularly forceful cheeriness, pulling the curtains wide. Too much, this morning. He was barely civil in his reply. 

“Ow!” he said as she tilted his head to check on his bandage. Was she trying to break his neck?

“Herr Candy!”

“Sorry,” he muttered. He sat silent under her ministrations, gazing out of the window. It was raining steadily. Typical. Nurse Erna was chattering away but he could barely bring himself to listen. He was still unsettled,  thinking about that blasted dream.  The shock of Theo, clambering in at his night time window, His cold hands, shaking Clive awake. The muddle of his thoughts and then a sharp clarity. Theo, by his bed, outlined in moonlight. He should have known it was a dream. Moonlight was only ever so perfect in stories. He frowned, wincing as it pulled his scar. 

“Herr Candy! You are most out of temper today!” laughed Nurse Erna, finishing her ministrations. 

“Well, is it any wonder, with all this fussing?” he grumbled, shrugging her off. But Nurse Erna was unflappable, smiling indulgently at him as if he were a naughty boy.  

“There, Herr Candy, you are all complete. I shall leave you with your black clouds.” And she was out of the door, leaving Clive even more out of sorts. 

This was all Theo’s fault, he thought, even as he realised how ridiculous he was being. It was not Theo’s fault that Clive had argued with him in a dream! He rubbed his shoulder. It was aching more than usual. Perhaps that had prompted the dream. He’d been lying heavily on it when he woke up. He shook himself, determined to throw the mood off. He peered outside at the gloom again. Hopefully it would clear up. Walking across to the wardrobe, he contemplated dressing, wishing he had brought more suits with him. Five weeks was a long time. If he’d had his uniform with him - like Theo - he wouldn’t even have to think about it. Oh! This was daft. Breakfast, that would sort him out. Everything looked brighter after tea and a nosebag. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Still raining. Clive was restlessly pacing, unable to settle. He’d read and re-read his dog-eared copy of _The Strand_ until he could quote it backwards. Hoppy had promised to post the next issue, but it had not yet arrived. At this rate Holmes would have solved the case before Clive got back to London. And all the books in the tiny library here were in German. Edith had brought him some, but they were in German too, blast them. He could pick out a few words, but the rest was gibberish, not like when he was talking with Theo. He’d given up playing cards when he found himself cheating at Patience. That was the lowest. He was itchy in his own skin, but couldn’t see why. The rain, of course. Cabin fever. It was past two, and Theo had not turned up. When had he started relying on Theo’s daily visits for his entertainment? Surely he could cope on his own. He’d been in much more boring situations. He sat himself down in the chair again, determined to get through the afternoon. 

A brisk knock on the door. Oh he really couldn’t stand to have another visit from Nurse Erna. But no, it was Theo, striding in, whistling. Mignon of course. He never tired of making that joke.

“Clive!” he called, strolling across and slapping him on the shoulder. The bad one. Clive winced, could not bite back a groan.

“Oh, mein Freund!” Theo said, ruefully. “Sorry. Sorry. Forgive me. Ich dachte nicht daran.”1 He swung a chair out, sat down astride it, arms folded along the back, looking at Clive with mostly sincere regret on his face.

“It’s alright.” Clive grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. 

“How are you today, mein Freund?” Theo asked, drawing his cigarette pack from his tunic. “Regen, eh? Rain? Ich werde noch - how do you say - _crazy_.” 2 He took two cigarettes, lit them, passed one to Clive, in his usual fashion. Clive took it, slightly mollified. 

“I’m alright” he muttered, taking a drag. “Blasted weather. May as well be in England.”

“Ja, so I am being told.” Theo smiled. He didn’t seem put out at all, despite his words. “Was ist dass?”3 he asked, picking up one of the books from Edith.

“Some books Edith brought for me. She thinks I need to learn German, for some reason.”

“Clive, your Deutsch - schrecklich, - _terrible_ \- you know!” 4 Theo laughed, “but you will not be learning from Bücher - books.”

“I know _that”_ Clive grumbled. He didn’t need Theo to tell him that. 

“Clive, may I - ausleihen - ah, borrow - these?” Theo asked, leafing through the top book. “I read all in der Bibliothek.”5

“If you like” Clive said, ungraciously. Of _course_ Theo had read everything. Dear lord, this would not do. What a curmudgeon he was being. “Do you want a drink, Theo?” he managed, aware of his discourtesy.

“Alright” Theo replied easily. “And then - time for your shoulder, ja?”

Clive had a sudden flash of memory, his dream, Theo insisting on his shoulder exercises. A flush of annoyance  swept over him. 

“Oh, if we must” he muttered, getting to his feet and pouring the drinks. Maybe a spot of Kirschwasser would help. He put the glasses down a little sharply. Theo was still browsing through the books but he looked up at the noise.

“Clive, are you alright, mein Freund? You seem - _aus Sorten_.” 6

“I’m fine” he grumbled, aware as he said it that he was being childish. But he didn’t need Theo telling him so. “It’s like you said. Cabin fever.”  

“We - leave your shoulder if you like, today?”

“No, it’s what you’ve come for, isn’t it?”

“Clive - ” Theo said reproachfully, looking at him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I don’t mean that. Dammit, I don’t know what’s up with me today.” But he did, in part. That blasted dream. How it lingered, between them. And Theo didn’t even know about it. He looked at the floor, uncertain as to how to deal with it.

“Good.” Theo’s voice broke his thoughts. Clive looked up at him, had a momentary glimpse of Theo’s face in the dark, lit by moonlight. Fanciful. He shook it off.

“Come on then,” he said, “let’s get it over with.”

“Alright - you are sure?”

“Yes, yes.” He got up, drained his glass. He started unbuttoning his waistcoat, glanced over to Theo. Theo gave him a small smile, finished his own drink and stood, hands at his tunic buttons. Clive took off his waistcoat and shirt briskly, folded them and sat on the bed, hands loose in his lap. Theo was rolling his shirtsleeves up with neat, precise movements. He interlaced his fingers, flexing his arms. Like a concert pianist, Clive thought, or a surgeon. Neither idea was particularly reassuring. Silly. They had been doing this for a week now. Theo walked over to the bedside table, picked up the small tin of salve there. Clive had been uncertain at first, when Theo brought it with him, remembering the foul smelling stuff that the gym master used to make them use. But this was different. Something Theo carried with him in his kit. It had a pleasing smell, a little like Clive’s own hair oil, warm and spicy, like cloves. Clive would turn the battered tin over in his hands sometimes, with its foreign words and little dents. The smell of it was strangely comforting. Theo was rubbing his hands together, warming the salve up, Clive realised. That was good of him. 

“Alright, Clive?” Theo asked, approaching him. He was waiting. He never usually did. Clive’s mood was obvious, then. 

“Yes, come on.” Clive muttered. Theo’s hands were still a little cool on the bare flesh of his shoulder, but he could bear it. Theo was concentrating now. This was familiar, routine. Clive could stand this. Theo’s hands, firm and sure. Clive focused on Theo’s shirt buttons, close to his face, Theo’s knee brushing his thigh as he worked. He flinched as Theo hit upon a particularly sore spot. 

“Bad here, Clive?” he murmured.

“Mmm.” Clive muttered back. “Slept on it. That might be it. Or the weather.”

“Ja, wahr. True.” Theo replied, working harder into the spot. Clive tried not to make a noise. Theo was murmuring in German, as he often did. Usually he found it soothing. Not today. Theo worked steadily, moving down his arm, raising goosebumps. Clive shivered.

“Alright, Clive? Are you cold?”

“I’m alright,” he said.

“Gut.” Theo said, continuing down his arm, thumb pressing firmly into the fine skin of Clive’s wrist, as if he were taking his pulse. Theo’s hands were warm now, one around his wrist, one on his bicep. They were rough in places. Soldier’s hands. Clive supposed his own would feel the same. He concentrated on Theo’s shirt buttons. Then Theo released his wrist, and was clambering onto the bed behind him to work on his back. Clive shuddered a breath in, feeling Theo’s warm presence at his back. He stared down at his folded hands,  now that there were no buttons to focus on. He was trying not to clasp them too firmly, feeling that Theo would tell him off. Like in the dream. Theo’s hands were sure and firm on his back, on his shoulders, massaging deep into the muscles. Better than the turkish baths, somehow. He could do with a swim, something like that, perhaps.  Something to work off this restlessness.  

“Alright, Clive?” Theo murmured quietly, close at his ear. He was being much more careful than usual, Clive thought. He shivered again, at the feel of Theo’s breath warm on his neck.

“Yes” he replied, low. “Don’t stop.”

Theo took him at his word, continued his work, pressing thumbs firmly into the muscles either side of Clive’s spine. The scent of the salve was stronger now. His back was warm, with Theo close behind him, even if his front was a little cold. He clasped his hands a little more tightly together, listened to Theo’s quiet murmurings, wished he could understand them. This was - this was not like his dream, where Theo had been high-handed, taking him to task like a schoolmaster. He was being careful. But still with the same sure touch, the same easy familiarity. Clive dropped his head, closed his eyes for a moment. Theo paused, hands stilled on his back. Clive wondered if he was going to stop. And then, one hand, massaging hard up his neck, easing muscles that he hadn’t realised were tight. The other hand light on his shoulder, steadying almost. Clive sighed, some of his tension easing, with Theo’s grip firm at the base of his skull, warm through the short hair at his nape. Christ, that was sore; he hadn’t known how bad it was. He let out a small noise, almost a groan, and Theo stopped, suddenly. 

“Clive?” he murmured, low at Clive’s ear.

“It’s - ” Clive cleared his throat, “ - it’s fine, Theo. It’s sore, but  - ” he didn’t know what to say. How could he say _it feels good_ without it sounding odd? And why was he second guessing himself? Normally he would say anything to Theo without a care. He took a breath, said “ - carry on, would you?”

Theo hummed a yes, and then - as if he’d been waiting for Clive’s say-so - he continued with both hands; cradling Clive’s head, fingers in his hair, thumbs digging into the base of Clive’s skull, merciless. Clive bit back another groan, god it was painful, but he didn’t want it to stop. He could feel Theo’s fingers through his hair, hot points of pressure where his fingertips were, and the relentless force of his thumbs, working steadily along behind his ears now, to the tight part where his jaw hinged, the taut muscles down the side of his neck, back up to the base of his skull. He was lightheaded with it; the scent of clove and spice, and underneath that the scent of Theo’s pomade, of his cigarettes; he was holding his breath, not sure how much more he could bear. With his eyes closed it was overwhelming, but somehow he could not open them. Then the pressure was gone, and Theo’s fingertips were rasping in his hair, smoothing down, hands gentling, stroking along the muscles of his shoulders. Clive let a shaky breath out, raised his head slowly, the dead weight of it almost too much for him. He leaned back, weak, not realising he was doing it until he felt the cold buckle of Theo’s belt pressing hard against his spine. He started, but Theo’s hands were firm on his shoulders, keeping him in place. 

“Hush, Clive,” he said, softly. “Rest für eine Minute, ja?”7 

Clive gave into it, leant back a little more, his hair brushing against Theo’s shirt. He still had his eyes closed; feared that if he opened them he would have to move. Theo was so warm. He could smell the clean cotton of his shirt, and something else that must be Theo, underneath it all. He was very tired, all of a sudden. Theo’s belly was firm behind his shoulders, and Clive could feel him breathing steadily, the lift and fall of it. He did not want to move. The steady thrum of the rain outside, the soft sound of Theo’s breathing; they were comforting sounds. Theo was still holding him in place, hands smoothing over his shoulders and down his upper arms. Clive feared that if he moved Theo would stop. It was so long since anyone had touched him with anything other than professional hands. He flushed, aware of the treachery of such thoughts, too aware of Theo behind him. He must not think that way. It was - not _wrong_ , but - it was taking advantage of Theo’s care. Yet Theo offered his care easily, and that must mean something. He drifted in his own thoughts, drowsy, soothed. How much time had passed? Theo would be getting uncomfortable, surely. Yet was still stroking Clive’s arms, as if he were calming an animal. One more minute, that was all he asked. It was not much. He let his head rest a little more heavily against Theo’s chest, felt the ridges of his ribcage, the faint drum of his heartbeat. How precious the human body was, how fragile, under the surface. Clive had never thought of it when he was shot. Or during their duel. He never feared for his own safety. But the idea of anything happening to _Theo._ He was all too aware of how easily a bullet could shatter ribs, strike a heart. He shivered at it. 

Theo stilled his hands, sighed faintly.

“You are cold, Clive?” he murmured, not moving.

“Oh - ” Clive was dazed, lost in his thoughts. Oh. He opened his eyes, blinking a little. He supposed he ought to move. “What?”

“Cold?” Theo asked again, hands squeezing Clive’s shoulders gently. 

“A little.” Clive replied, quietly. He could not quite tell Theo what he had really been thinking. And Theo must be uncomfortable now. He was being polite, of course. Clive should move. He sat up, shivered properly this time at the loss of warmth from Theo. Theo pressed lightly on his shoulders and then his hands were gone, and he was maneuvering himself off the bed. His boots on the floor were brisk in the stillness of the room. Clive felt slow, as if he’d been asleep and not yet woken up properly. He pulled his shirt on, half buttoned it, could not be bothered tucking it into his trousers, left it open at the neck. Who would care? Theo had his back to him; was rolling his shirtsleeves down, fastening his cufflinks, the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulder blades. Clive could not quite bring himself to get up from the bed. He watched Theo’s back dully as he put his tunic back on, his hands quick at the buttons, then turned to face Clive, a serious look on his face. 

“Sie - ” he paused, turned away for a moment to fidget with the cigarette box on the table. Picked two out and lit them, exhaling a great stream of smoke before walking across to Clive and handing him one. Clive took it from him, the first drag clearing his thoughts a little. 

“Theo?” he asked, looking up at him.

“You should rest, mein Freund.” Theo said quietly. “It is bad, Ihr Hals - ”8 he gestured to Clive’s neck to illustrate. He had said it before, after a session, and Clive had always talked him into staying. But today - he thought it might be for the best. 

“Yes, I think you’re right, Theo.” He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down. “I’m all done in, old man. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” Theo asked. “Es ist in Ordnung. Fine, Clive.”9 He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. “I let you rest, now.” He turned, headed briskly to the door; paused with a hand on the doorknob, turned back with a fleeting smile, said something in German that Clive could not translate, and then he was gone. Clive sat, finishing his cigarette. Perhaps it would be best to lie down for a little while, maybe have a nap. He was being an old man! But years of army life had trained him to snatch sleep when he needed it. He toed his shoes off, stubbed out his cigarette. It was warm enough on top of the covers if he kept his trousers on. He couldn’t be bothered to get into bed. He lay back, yawning suddenly, closing his eyes. The thrum of the rain was still steady outside, but - as it had been when Theo had been there - it was soothing, lulling him into a doze. He would just have forty winks. Nothing wrong with that.

 

* * * * * *  *

 

Clive glanced out of the dining room window surreptitiously. Still raining. This day was a washout. He’d woken from his nap feeling sluggish and thick headed, and looking at the clock had seen that he’d slept for over three hours. He’d barely had time to  brush his hair and straighten his clothing before hurrying in to meet Edith for dinner. He could still faintly catch the smell of the salve, warm and spicy, lingering in all the places Theo had touched him. He flushed, feeling as if his thoughts were writ large for Edith to see. But Edith, thankfully, was talking about - oh, about something. Clive was guiltily aware that he was barely listening, dull-witted and distracted as he was.

“ - but it was too wet to even try today, with the mud - one only need give these ladies the smallest reason to turn their nose up, and I really cannot bear another day of it.” She stopped, and Clive was aware that he should have at least interjected a sympathetic noise.

“Sorry, old girl” he said, belatedly. “Rough luck on you, being shut up all day.”

“Clive, that’s not - honestly, what _is_ the matter with you today?” She looked up at him, eyes bright. “I feel like - like Stanley, trying to communicate with a lost tribe. As if you were a savage, who had never known another human face.” She smiled at him, and Clive smiled back, at the deliberate reference to their first meeting. 

“Well,” Clive replied “I _feel_ like I’ve never seen another human face, today.”

“Poor Clive” Edith said, teasingly. “Have you been terribly lonely?”

“Bit bored.” Clive said, gruffly. Edith did not need to know his shameful moods today. “Shut in. Nothing to read.”

“What about those books I found for you? Have you read them already?”

“Oh, well - ” Clive faltered, thinking of Theo leafing through them. “I told Theo he could borrow them. He’s read everything here, and he was bored too, being cooped up. Though, come to think of it, he forgot to take them - ” Clive drifted off, thinking of Theo’s careful behaviour, and then his quick leave taking.

“Oh, _Theo_!” Edith said, with particular emphasis, putting down her cutlery sharply. Clive wasn’t sure quite what she meant by it. She liked Theo, was always friendly during their card games; they were an easy quartet. 

“Well. He’ll get more use out of them, after all.” Clive retorted. 

“Honestly, Clive, you should be learning German. You could have put your time to good use, today.” Edith said, in what Clive secretly thought of as her Governess voice. If he were not careful she would have him conjugating verbs over his vegetables. He got enough of _that_ from Theo.

“I don’t see why, old girl. The only German I know, or am likely to know, is Theo, and we rub along just fine.”

“Clive!”

“What?” Honestly, he was really not in the mood for a row with Edith. She was far more quick witted than him at the best of times, and he was well aware that he was far from his best. 

“Don’t you think you should make an effort? You’re such an - Englishman, expecting everyone to fall in line, to magically speak English, wherever in the world you go.”

“Well, they do!” Clive retorted.  Was that what she thought of him? “And - I don’t expect it. It’s just often the way. And - I get by.” He thought, unbidden, of South Africa, of the dark skinned street boys, of how no words were necessary, just a look, a nod, easy and clear. Much easier to navigate than the minefield of words that polite society was. He looked at Edith, at the temper flush on her face. He must really not let his mind wander so, not with Edith opposite him. 

He briefly wished that Theo could be there to ease the tension, to keep the conversation flowing. But then, Theo and Edith would chatter away in German, and Clive would be even more lost, trying to follow them. It was probably for the best that they ate in separate wings. And Edith, tonight, seemed just as likely to bite Theo’s head off as she was Clive’s. 

“Don’t know why you’re so snappy, anyway.” Clive continued, “Surely you’re used to sitting about?” Even as he said the words he knew his error. Edith flushed red, and only her manners prevented her from leaving the table. Clive had gone too far, he knew. Oh, lord. 

“Clive Candy - ” Edith began, in a terrible, low voice, but Clive rushed to cut her off, piling on the charm.

“Edith, my dear, I _am_ sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know what a muddle I always am in. I only meant, that you’re more accustomed to being indoors.” Oh, dear, that was not much better, judging by her expression. “I mean, I’m no good, all shut up like this. You should have seen me in Jordaan Siding. I’d’ve gone mad were it not for Hoppy. You’re much more clever at occupying yourself.”

“Hmm” Edith said, barely mollified. Clive felt he had moved to firmer ground.

“Had Theo not showed up today I may have resorted to desperate measures!” he ventured, smiling. Edith’s face clouded again. Oh, dear. Clive took a sip of his drink, wishing desperately that it was something stronger than water. 

“Well” Edith said, tightly “we must all be grateful for the Oberleutnant’s dedication then, mustn’t we?”

“Yes.” Clive said faintly, wondering when the conversation had got away from him. Although to be honest, he wasn’t sure he had ever had a grasp of it. He was casting around for a topic that would be less fraught when Edith said, in a different tone,

“Are we to play cards tonight, Clive?”

“Oh” Clive said, thrown again. To be truthful, he had not thought of it. They hadn’t had a four for - oh - a week now. Frau von Kalteneck must be busy. He’d not asked Theo about her, he realised. He’d been - _pleased._ “Theo didn’t say anything. He would have, if Frau von Kalteneck - Mariel - was free. I suppose she has some other engagement tonight.”

“Hmm” Edith said again. “She must have a lot of social commitments, don’t you think?”

“I suppose” Clive replied, trying to sound offhand. “I’d not really noticed. But I expect she has a lot of friends, not just Theo. You know.”

“Yes.” Edith said, an edge of something to her voice. 

“Well,” Clive began, setting his cutlery neatly on his empty plate. He was exhausted, despite all the sleep he’d had. Edith paused, looking at him. Waiting for him to say something, Clive realised. 

“Edith. old girl, do forgive me. I’ve been in a terrible funk all day. I’m not fit company.”

“It’s alright, Clive.” she said, thawing a little. Not apologising  for her own mood, Clive noticed. Still, that was a lady’s prerogative. 

“I’m sure the weather will clear tomorrow, and then - if you like - we could go for a stroll, in the morning, if you’re free?” he said, trying his best to appear contrite. He must keep the afternoon free, of course, for Theo. 

“Alright Clive, yes, if it’s clear. That would be nice.” And yes, there was more warmth in her voice now. 

“Splendid.” Clive said, relief making him effusive. “And - I think I’m just going to try and turn in early, this evening, you know.” That was enough of a hint, if she needed one. 

“Yes, alright” she replied, a little more quietly. At least she wasn’t protesting that. She got to her feet, and Clive stood with her, moving round to pull her chair out of the way. 

“Thank you, Clive.” she said, as he offered her his arm and walked her to the door. Out in the corridor it was quiet, compared to the low rumble in the dining room. Clive felt his head clear a little, in the silence. He stopped, turned to face Edith. 

“Good night then, old girl” he said, warmly.

“Good night, Clive” she replied, low. He waited until she had started up the stairs before heading thankfully to his own room. Lord! Dinner really should not be such an ordeal. What a grump he had been with her, but she had a rare talent for taking offence at the least thing he said, when she was in the mood to. He closed the door behind him, shrugged off his jacket and hung it up. He wandered across to the table, lit a cigarette and poured himself a drink, knocking it back quickly. That was much needed!      

He wandered over to the window and stood, smoking, looking out. It was dark, and he could see only blurry points of light amidst the heavy rain. He thought back to what Edith had said, about their card evenings. She was always sharp, of course, and often noticed things before he did, made him face up to things. He’d been pleased to have Theo to himself. He was terribly fond of Edith, and Mariel was a spirited card player, but the times he enjoyed the most were the evenings with just Theo. It wasn't as if they descended to barrack-room bawdiness or any such behaviour that would be unsuitable for the ladies, but Clive felt freer, somehow. He could say anything to Theo. Even with their language differences. Conversation was easy, with Theo. Not the minefield it was with Edith.

He sighed, shook his head at himself. What was all this philosophizing? Being stuck indoors, damn it, it gave one time to think, and no good ever came of that. He felt dull headed still, but wide awake. He would never sleep if he could not tire himself out somehow. He flexed his arms, feeling the ease in his shoulder, thankful once more for Theo’s easy care, for him not having been put off by Clive’s poor humour. He swung his arms wide, experimentally. Oh for a gymnasium in the hospital! A spot of boxing would be ideal. He wasn’t sure fencing was wise, with their injuries. He caught himself. Of course he was thinking of Theo as an opponent. It was only natural. He was the only man here Clive knew, and Clive was sure Theo would be up for it. A shame there was nothing. He turned away from the window, went back across to the table for another drink. A quiet knock on the door. Clive checked his watch. Not time for the nurses yet. 

“Come in” he called.

The door opened and Theo’s head appeared.

“Clive?” he asked, cautiously.

“Theo!” Clive called, surprised. “Come in, old thing.” He poured another glass out for Theo.

“How are you, mein Freund?” Theo asked, gesturing towards his shoulder, accepting the glass.

“Better, thanks to you.” Clive said, a little embarrassed. He was still a touch ashamed of his earlier behaviour.

“Gut!”10 Theo said, happily, as if he’d forgotten it all. That was good of him. Clive felt his mood brightening, and smiled a little at Theo. Theo helped himself to Clive’s cigarettes, lighting two and passing one to Clive, before swinging out a chair and sitting down. He touched the books on the table lightly.

“Ach, Clive, I - _vergaß_ -  these, früher.” 11 

“Hmm. Oh, yes?” Clive said, distracted. “Well, take them whenever, old thing.”

“Clive, wollen Sie sich nicht - sit?”12 Theo asked, amused. Clive looked at him, and realised he’d been pacing the room, smoking. 

“Sorry, Theo. Can’t settle.” He shook himself, and sat down. 

“Haben Sie geschlafen? Slept, yes?”13 Theo asked, eyeing him through his cigarette smoke.

“Yes, that’s part of the problem. Slept too much.” He stretched his arms out, flexing them. “I’ll never sleep tonight. I need some - what d’you keep calling it, _Übung_? Exercise?”

“Ha!” Theo laughed, agreeing. “Ja, indeed!” he stubbed out his cigarette. “Ein weiteres Duell, ja?”14 He smiled at Clive. 

“Not sure that’s a good idea, old man.” Clive said, gesturing to his own lip, to the scar still red there. Theo paused, his face turning serious for a moment. 

“No, hast du Recht, Clive.”15 He reached out a tentative hand, fingers hovering just short of touching. Clive held his breath, uncertain. Then Theo smiled, and was his usual self. “Boxen? Nein, auch nicht gut.”16     

Boxing, no, Theo was right. That was just as dangerous. Oh, but he was contemplating it! Clive flushed, uncommonly pleased that Theo was of the same mind as him. But when was he not? Oh, they really could do this, if only they could find something suitable.  He cast his mind back to his schooldays. _Mens sana in corpore sano_ , and his school had taken the healthy body idea to heart. What was there without a gymnasium, or equipment, that would not damage their dueling injuries? Of course - 

“Wrestling!” he said, just as Theo said “Ringen!”17 They looked at each other and laughed. 

“What?” Clive asked. 

“Ringen?” Theo said, looking at him, eyes bright. He stood, gesturing for Clive to do the same. Then he took hold of Clive’s arms in a familiar wrestling hold. “Yes?” 

“Yes!” Clive said, happy that they were of the same mind again. Theo let go of him, and stood back for a moment, eyeing Clive almost with concern. 

“Your shoulder, Clive? Ist sie stark genug? - Strong?”18 He reached a hand out again, resting it lightly, this time, on Clive’s shoulder, for a brief moment. 

“It’ll be fine, old man” said Clive. Anything to be finally doing something, rather than this endless sitting around. He’d deal with the consequences later. He looked at Theo with a sportsman’s eye for a moment. Theo was leaner, less broad across the chest than Clive, slimmer around the waist, even with his tunic on. Clive had a good stone on him at least. It was nothing especially to be proud of, it was just a fact.  Theo carried his strength in his thighs, his upper arms. In fact, he had the perfect fencer’s body. No wonder he was such an accomplished duelist. Clive’s muscles were less defined but he had more weight to put behind them. But yes, with his shoulder, they were pretty equally matched. That was an unexpected benefit. There was little satisfaction in fighting a mismatched opponent. 

“Clive?” Theo asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes!” Clive shook himself. “Sorry, old man. Thinking. Yes, what did you call it? _Ringen_? Shall we?” and he smiled properly for what felt like the first time that long day. 

“Ja!” Theo smiled, still for a moment, and then he was moving chairs and lifting the table up to clear a space in the room. “Hier - ” he said to Clive, and Clive joined him, pushing furniture aside until there was a sizeable floor space. He glanced out of the window and saw that it was still raining. It didn’t seem as bad now. Oh, but he’d best draw the curtains, they would catch no end of trouble if anyone saw. He blushed, foolishly. Not that there was anything wrong in what they were doing. But the nurses. And Matron! Matron would have their hides. He drew the last curtain and turned back to the room, assessing it. It would do. Theo was stripping out of his tunic, throwing it casually onto Clive’s bed. He was being much freer than earlier, when he had circled Clive almost warily. Clive felt briefly ashamed, and absurdly grateful that Theo had been so aware of his mood, and soothed him. Edith had just worn at his nerves. That was unfair. But Theo - he realised suddenly that he was standing watching Theo unbutton his shirt, and dropped his head to his own waistcoat buttons. He strolled over to the bed and tossed his waistcoat next to Theo’s tunic. A small thrill went through him at that, at for once not hanging things up neatly. He drew his tie off, unfastened his cufflinks, putting them on the bedside table. A flurry of movement next to him made him look up and Theo was drawing his shirt over his head, neck bent, the fabric momentarily taut over his shoulder blades as the curve of his spine was revealed. Clive looked at the pale smooth skin of Theo’s back, lighter than his arms, hidden away from the sun under the layers of his uniform. Beautiful. Clive started, aware that he had been reaching out to touch, to smooth a hand over the firm stretch of skin over Theo’s shoulder blade. He stepped back, glad above all things that Theo was still tangled in his shirt. He turned his back, shaken, unbuttoning his shirt mechanically.

That was it, then. He thought of his dream, and almost laughed at his own foolishness. He pulled his shirt off, threw it onto the bed, dazed. He knew his mind wasn’t the quickest, and he’d never understood those fellows who sat around thinking about things all the time. But this had been slow, even for him. He unbuttoned his braces, amazed that such little things were still possible in the face of such a thunderbolt. But, yet, it wasn’t really, was it? It was somehow the opposite. Everything was clear. And, damnation, he was tangled in his own braces now. He laughed, suddenly, at the ridiculousness of it all. Theo appeared in front of him, bare chested, barefoot, his uniform trousers rolled up slightly, as if he were at the beach. Clive laughed again at the sight. Theo grinned at him, as if to say, _you laugh at me when you are fighting with your clothes?_

“Oh, god” Clive said, weakly, still laughing “I’m stuck. Help me, you beast!”

“Alright, Clive” Theo said, batting his hands away. Clive looked at Theo’s face, frowning in concentration as he deftly unbuttoned and untangled him. And there was no difference there at all, between one moment and the next. It was only Clive’s brain, slow as ever to catch up with his heart. Theo straightened, throwing Clive’s braces onto the bed. Clive grabbed at his trousers, aware that they would most likely fall and trip him, and Theo would be unbearable if that happened. He looked around for something. Oh, he could use the cord from his dressing gown, in a pinch. Theo had no such problems, Clive thought, with his uniform belt. Another advantage. He felt faintly foolish with his trousers tied up with string like a street arab, but he toed off his shoes and peeled his socks off. He needed to roll his trousers as Theo had too. 

“So!” Theo said, rubbing his hands together. 

“So!” Clive replied, straightening. “Wait - ” he said, crossing over to the table. He needed a drink. He poured two generous measures, handed one to Theo. Theo grinned at him.

“Prost!” he exclaimed, clinking their glasses, throwing his drink back. Clive had his glass halfway to his mouth but the line of Theo’s throat as he swallowed his drink held him frozen. Christ. He would need the whole bottle to get through this. He threw his own drink back, feeling the warmth all down his throat, aware of the flush on his cheeks, hoping Theo would put it down to the drink.  

“Alright, Clive?” Theo asked, taking his empty glass from him.

“Alright,” Clive answered. He took up a stand opposite Theo, across the cleared floor. Theo stood straight, looking at him with a small smile on his lips. Clive looked at him seriously, assessing him as an opponent again. He held himself beautifully straight, his shoulders square. That uniform flattered him a little, Clive realised, making him appear broader across the shoulders and chest. Clever tailoring. That and his army greatcoat, with its full sweep, made him truly an imposing figure. And yet underneath it all he was just Theo, holding himself perfectly, muscles carved and skin gleaming in the lamplight; smaller and yet somehow more impressive. Clive sucked his belly in almost unconsciously, pushed his shoulders back a little. He tested his improvised belt. It would do. 

“Bereit?”19 Theo asked, changing his stance. He could only mean one thing.

“Ready.” Clive agreed, mirroring him. And then the game was on. Theo’s hands were straight on him, no fooling. His grip was firm and sure, and Clive had not been wrong in his assessment of Theo’s strengths. He leaned some more of his weight into his hold, grappling for dominance. They truly were evenly matched.  He must concentrate on not getting his scar knocked about, and the same went for Theo’s. Everything else was fair game. He shifted his weight, trying to get an advantage. Theo was _strong,_ pushing into it with his legs, bare feet shifting a little on the floor. Clive had his head butted into the crook of Theo’s neck, trying to get a hold around his back. He looked down at them, at Theo’s straining thighs, the cloth of his trousers taut over them, and oh _Christ_ , the unmistakeable outline of his cock, and flushed hot. What a time to have a revelation. But he would not give this up, or give himself away. Theo’s breath was hot against his ear, his hands were hot on Clive’s arms, bruising almost, and Clive was flooded with something like joy, that Theo would not hold back, even for his shoulder. That they were well matched in this, as in all other things. He focused his scattered thoughts for a moment, and then stopped pushing, suddenly. Theo stumbled with nothing to push against and Clive took advantage, circling him swiftly and grasping him from behind in a bear hug. He had the advantage now, even without managing to pin Theo’s arms, and he tightened his hold, shifted his feet, trying to get enough leverage for a throw. He had his forehead pressed to Theo’s neck, breathing hot against his skin; could feel Theo’s heart racing underneath his clasped arms, the sheer heat rolling off him, the flexing of his muscles as he tried to get an arm to Clive’s back, his side, anything to break the hold. Theo was pushing hard against him, straining, his chest heaving, and Clive was putting all his strength into resisting. He shifted his stance, his face pressed sweatily into the side of Theo’s neck now, searching for leverage, with Theo’s breath harsh and close, and Clive lost himself unforgivably for a moment, in the heat and the press of their bodies; knew that this was what it would be like with Theo in bed, the heat and the strength and the sharp sweet smell of his sweat and cigarettes; only the sound of their heavy breath and the glorious feel of Theo’s warm skin beneath his hands, Theo a match for him in everything. Dear Christ, he was getting _hard_. He wanted to close the handspan of distance between them, press himself all the way along Theo’s back, fit himself perfectly against him the way he knew they would, but dear _god_ , Theo must not know. 

And then Theo used his own trick against him, going limp for a moment so that Clive stumbled forward, arms unlocking. Theo slipped from his hold like quicksilver, turning to face him again, chest heaving but laughing, the sweat shining on his face. Clive shook his arms out, shook himself mentally, thanked providence that his trousers were loose fitting, and sent up a desperate prayer that Theo would not notice his state. It wasn’t the first time he’d become aroused in such circumstances, and in the past it had often led to other things; with a willing partner there was a lot of fun to be had. He braced himself as Theo came at him again, and again the game was on. He must concentrate, and not think about it. There was more here, than just a little fun with a schoolmate or fellow soldier. This was _Theo_. He grasped at the sweaty skin of Theo’s side, felt the ribs hard under his palm. If he could just get another hold - and who knew what the Germans thought of such things? At least in school and the army you knew what was what, even if you didn’t talk of it. And Theo liked women. Though that didn’t always signify. Theo had his face pressed hard into Clive’s neck, his hands unforgiving on Clive’s shoulder and waist. Clive worried for a moment about Theo’s bandage, and eased back a little. Theo felt it, pressed the advantage, and suddenly Clive was flat on his back on the cold _hard_ floor, the breath knocked from him and Theo pressed heavily onto his chest. 

“Ow!” Clive shouted, more from annoyance than pain, though, dear lord, he would have bruises come the morning. They had not thought this through! Theo was still pinning him, making sure that his shoulders were firm against the floor. Thank God, thought Clive faintly, that Theo was not sitting on him. That would be the end. 

“Geben Sie auf?”20 Theo asked, triumphant, breathing heavily against Clive. The words were nonsense but the meaning was clear. 

“Yes, yes” Clive said, reluctantly. Theo held him there for a moment longer, hands hard against Clive’s shoulders, his face shining above him. Christ, thought Clive. This will not do. And then Theo was sitting back on his haunches, grinning, wiping a hand across the back of his neck. And his damn bandage was fine. Clive heaved in great gulps of air, trying to settle himself. The floor was cold against his back, and he sat up, gingerly. Well, at least the pain had mostly shocked him out of his arousal. Small mercies. He crossed his legs, indian-style, ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it back, risked a glance at Theo. Theo was breathing heavily, his hands braced on his knees, head down, a flush across his chest, oblivious to Clive’s gaze.  _Christ_ , what a sight. It was impossible not to look. Theo’s uniform trousers were pulled tight across his thighs again, and Clive could again see the unmistakeable outline of his cock against his leg. He swallowed, fighting a sharp jolt of arousal, clenching his fists to stop himself reaching out. This was - he had never felt such a fierce pull towards anyone before. He wiped a hand across his brow, just as Theo looked up, grinning, breathing more easily. 

“Gut, ja?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. And oh, yes, of course it was. It was _Theo_. Clive could not help his answering grin, despite his defeat. 

“Yes,” he said, unfolding his legs and getting unsteadily to his feet. “Drink?” he asked, over his shoulder, busying himself with untying and retying his makeshift belt, shaking out his trousers, trying to calm himself. 

“Ja, of course”. Theo said. Clive poured the drinks and then suddenly felt the air warm at his back and Theo was behind him, beside him, reaching for Clive’s cigarettes and lighting two for them. Clive felt as if he had an extra sense, an awareness of Theo. Ridiculous, of course. It was only that he could feel the heat rolling off Theo. He turned with the drinks and Theo placed a cigarette gently between his lips, took his drink from him. Clive dragged in a lungful, gratefully. He could feel the muscles in his arms quivering a little, and of course it was only the wrestling. Theo dropped into his usual chair, happily unconcerned at his state of undress. Clive did the same, thinking unexpectedly of South Africa, of how envious he always was of the street boys with their loose clothes, barefoot and tanned. One needed a lot of clothes in England of course, because it was always infernally cold. Much as he loved his uniform, he’d often had disloyal thoughts about how unsuitable it was for hotter climates. He took a sip of his drink, crossed his legs, wiggling his toes contentedly. Theo saw the movement and laughed, copying him. 

“Besser?”21 Theo asked, smiling through his cigarette smoke. 

“Yes” Clive replied, truthfully. His arms were a bit wobbly, the muscles starting to ache, and he knew that it had helped. He was a little shaky. At least now he understood his feelings. That quelled the restlessness. He looked at Theo, at this man who had so quickly become a friend, and marvelled that such a thing had happened because of a stinking rat of a traitor. Who could have known that punching Kaunitz would bring pleasure beyond the actual moment when his fist connected? He smiled. He’d had the weight advantage there. Kaunitz was no match for him, on any level. 

“Warum lächeln - why you smile, Clive?”22

“Oh,” Clive came back to himself. “Just thinking about that punch I landed on that rat Kaunitz.”

“Ach, yes. Sie haben ihn die Treppe hinuntergeprügelt, nicht?”23

“Theo!” Clive said, exasperated.

“Sorry!” Theo laughed. “Oh, Clive, your _Deutsch_. _Eine Schande._ 24 You - punched, yes? Down - ” he mimed what Clive recognised as stairs, but only because he’d been there.  

“Yes,” Clive said, half embarrassed, half proud. “He deserved it. But, no - what I meant was - ” he paused, feeling oddly bashful. “If not for that, then - ” he took a swig of his drink, realised he’d already finished it. He stood, took Theo’s empty glass and refilled them both. “I would never have met you,” he said quietly, his back to Theo. He sounded like a schoolgirl. His face was burning, and he could not turn back for a moment. He hung his head, trying to compose himself. Come on, man. He returned to his seat, handed Theo his drink, looked up at him. 

“Clive,” Theo said, warmly, looking at him with fond eyes. “Du Dummkopf.”25 He paused, as if he’d said something inappropriate. “You idiot.” Or not. He sat forward, clinked his glass against Clive’s, smiled the broad smile that took over his whole face, and tossed his drink back. “Yes,” he said, as Clive did the same. “Es war ein _ausgezeichneter_ Schlag.” 26 He paused again, seeking the words. “ _Good_ punch.” And behind those two words, Clive felt, were multitudes. Oh, dear, he was a little lightheaded. But Theo was grinning so happily at him, and - well - he was _here_ , wasn’t he? Every day, every evening, seeking Clive’s company. Clive flushed, pleased beyond measure. If he had nothing further, he had that. 

Theo stubbed his cigarette out, leaning back with a small sigh. The flush had left his chest now, and he slumped a little in his seat, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Oh, _God_. Clive finished his own cigarette, looked at the tilt of Theo’s neck, the strong muscle there, the sparse scattering of hair on his chest, dark against the pale smooth skin; the crease of his belly as he sat slumped, the long stretch of thigh. _Christ_. He picked out two cigarettes from the box on the table with shaking hands and lit them, copying Theo’s usual way. Theo’s hands were resting loosely on his thighs, his head tilted to the side. Christ, he was beautiful. Clive leaned forward, placed a cigarette between Theo’s lips with an unsteady hand. Theo blinked his eyes open, surprised. Then parted his lips, took the cigarette, inhaled, blew out a stream of smoke, all the while watching Clive through half-open eyes. Clive took an unsteady drag on his own cigarette, aware of the thrum of arousal in his stomach, the unsteady thump of his heart. He sat back, feigning relaxation. Theo quirked a smile at him around his cigarette and closed his eyes again. 

Clive breathed smoke out, ran a hand through his hair, rested for a moment with his hand on the back of his neck. His gaze fell on Theo’s belt, and he had a sudden memory of the duel, of the Ulan officer with his straight back and his precise hands and his neat uniform, even when half undressed. How odd, to think of that distant, proper man. How short a time it was, and yet it was a lifetime ago. Clive had noticed nothing but his stance, his build; had weighed him up as an opponent. Had never really noticed his looks, beyond the moustache and the straight line of his brows. And now look at him! Slumped half naked in a chair, utterly relaxed; sweaty, smoking, with a stupid bandage and rolled up trousers, and he was the most lovely thing Clive had ever seen. Clive closed his eyes at the thought, overcome. He let his arm fall back down to his lap, and tried to think of nothing, concentrated solely on the cigarette in his mouth and the distant sound of the rain, still falling steadily. He smoked steadily, eyes closed, breathing calm, and did not move until he needed to stub the fag out. He opened his eyes to see Theo gazing steadily at him, cigarette finished, hands still loose on his thighs. Clive smiled at him, uncertain, and Theo smiled back. 

“Es is Zeit - time - I leave, ja?”27 Theo said, quietly. Clive, reaching for his watch, remembered he had taken it out of his pocket for safekeeping; remembered suddenly that he was shirtless and barefoot. He glanced across to the alarm clock. Late! The nurses would be round in a few minutes.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, old thing.” he replied. Theo nodded, huffed in what Clive thought might be regret, and got to his feet. He went over to the window, drew the curtain aside a little to look out. 

“Still raining?” Clive asked. 

“Ja. It is - alright, Clive.” Clive looked at him, puzzled, but Theo was crossing to the bed and pulling his shirt over his head, tucking it in carelessly. He dressed with impressive speed, but Clive supposed the Germans drilled their soldiers just as the British did. When his last button was fastened he crossed back to the window, drawing back the curtain and pushing at the sash. He meant to go that way!

“Theo!” Clive cried, on his feet in an instant and crossing to Theo, aware of the rain and the risk.  

“Clive, hush! Ich muss, my friend. Keine Ziet - no time, ja?” He paused, a finger to his lips and Clive could hear, in the distance, the faint tap of the nurse’s shoes.   

“Alright” he said, resigned. Theo smiled quickly, clasped a hand to Clive’s arm, and then was over the sill and out in the darkness. He looked briefly at Clive, and Clive saw an echo of his dream, so long ago now. And then Theo was gone. Clive shut the window, drew the curtains and turned back to the room. The nurse would notice! He glanced at the clock. Five minutes. Enough time. He quickly righted the room. He turned to the bed, looking at his clothes. Usually he remained dressed until after the nurse had done his bandage, but it would take too long. Quicker to just get his nightshirt on. He gathered his clothes, dumped them on the chair, and stripped out of his trousers. Then pulled his nightshirt over his head and found his slippers. He had just wrapped his dressing gown round himself when there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in” he said, aware that he could not tie his dressing gown.

“Herr Candy.” said the nurse. At least it was not Nurse Erna. This one was a quiet thing, or it might just be that she had no English. 

“Nurse” he said politely, taking the chair that Theo had been sitting in. Clive fancied it was still warm from his body. God, that would not do, with a nurse in the room! She was quick and efficient though, and blessedly quiet, tilting his head when she needed to. Soon she was done and, with a small bow, left the room.

“Thank you, nurse.” he called after her. He touched the bandage. It always felt restrictive after a day of freedom, but he knew it was necessary. He was lucky they’d not damaged the stitches when they were wrestling. A shiver went through him at the memory, of his face pressed hot into Theo’s neck. He took his dressing gown off again, hung it up, toed off his slippers and climbed into bed. What an age it seemed since he’d woken this morning in such a funk.  

He rolled over and turned the lamp out. The rain was still falling, drumming faintly against the veranda roof. He hoped Theo had got back to his room with no trouble. He would get wet, though. How would he explain that to the nurses? Theo was canny, though. And of course, they spoke his language. He rolled onto his back, felt the slight ache in his arms, in his thighs. They were heavy now, and that along with the drinks they’d had would surely serve to get him to sleep easily. But he was also aware of the blood thrumming in his veins, of the throb of arousal that had been with him since he’d been pressed up against Theo. His cock twitched as he thought of it, of the smell of Theo warm and sweaty, of the strength of him, his refusal to hold back. Clive smoothed a hand down his chest, down his belly, palmed his cock through his nightshirt, felt it rise to his hand. That was another way to get to sleep, of course. He smiled, decided, and quickly stripped off his nightshirt. Better, with the feel of the sheets against his bare skin, with his hand warm against his bare chest. He could think it was Theo’s. Was that too much? Better here, though, in the dark of this little bed, than giving himself away to his friend. 

And god, they were friends, weren’t they? Clive stroked himself slowly, wondered briefly if he could use the salve on himself, to make the slide easier. But no, it might sting. And it would never do. He would be hard every time Theo used it, and give himself away in the worst way. He could not do that. He put it from his mind. He must not think of Theo working his shoulder while he did this. It was not safe. But the wrestling - oh, there was something to think of! They would not do it again, most likely. He settled further into his pillows, spread his legs a little, feeling the smooth slide of the sheets, the pleasant ache in his thighs. Theo’s hands, hard on his arms, fingers pressing in. He might have bruises. The thought was strangely stirring. Theo’s hands on him. Theo, pressed up against him, their heads close together, Theo’s breath heavy in his ear. When he’d had Theo in a bear hug, god how he’d wanted to press up against him, plaster himself all along the lovely curve of Theo’s spine. How easy it would have been to do, to have his face pressed hot into Theo’s neck and his belly pressed up against his back and his cock pressed hard and full against his backside. To relax his grip and smooth hands down Theo’s chest. He smoothed a hand across his own chest, brushing lightly over his nipples, imagining Theo under his hands. The heat of him, and his thumping heart, and his unsteady breathing, and the firm press of his backside against Clive’s cock. And Clive, his hands moving lower now, over the cold buckle of Theo’s belt, and the scratchy wool of his trousers. Clive thought again of the outline of Theo’s cock, and his own cock twitched at the memory, oh how he’d wanted to reach across, feel the shape and weight of it in his hand, feel it harden.

He shifted again, spreading his legs a little further, quickening his hand a little. Theo’s woollen trousers, rough under his palms, Theo’s back sticking hot all up against him, Theo’s stubble rasping against his own, both of them - oh yes! - looking down at Clive’s hands, big and steady on the front of Theo’s trousers. Theo’s breath, hitching, along with Clive’s. Theo pressing back against him, his lovely backside a delicious pressure on Clive’s cock. Clive’s hands, oh god, finally, shaping the length of Theo’s cock, hard now, Theo gasping hot into his ear, still looking at Clive’s hands, bringing his own hands up to grasp Clive’s arms, hanging onto him, unsteady on his own feet. God, the warmth of him, and the dizzying mix of their sweat and cigarettes and Theo’s pomade, just as it would be if they were together. How would it be? Like this, with Theo unsteady under his hands, or would Theo - oh, yes - he would let go of Clive’s arms and, suddenly impatient, tug at his belt, unbuckling it, letting the ends hang as he scrabbled at his trousers, and - oh, yes, forcing Clive’s hands away briefly to push his trousers and underwear down his thighs. Clive would keep him like that, wanton and half naked against himself, and put his hands back on him. Oh, god. His cock jerked at that. Theo, chest heaving, head back, arms scrabbling at Clive’s sides as they had earlier, only with his clothes stripped down, disarrayed, and Clive’s hand hot on his lovely cock. _Christ_. Clive was close. He would put one hand on Theo’s belly, pressing hard into it, pressing Theo harder against his own cock, as he stroked Theo, watched him shuddering through his hand, as Clive rutted against him desperately. Theo’s hot breath, and a stream of curses, broken German, panted out fierce into his ear, Clive’s hand faster now, tighter; Theo turning his head and licking into Clive’s ear, hot, wet, _Christ,_ his cock slick and smooth through Clive’s hand, his backside a perfect pressure on Clive’s cock, a hand up to Clive’s mouth, suddenly - Clive brought his hand to his mouth, bit down on his knuckle, did the same to Theo, tightened his hand, Theo groaning in his ear, shuddering, and oh _god,_ Clive was coming, hot and hard over himself, biting hard on his knuckle, stifling a cry. _Christ_. 

He lay panting in the dark, his face hot and his heart thumping, shaky and laughing weakly. He felt wrung out, sated, happy. He waited, shattered, for his heart to slow and his breathing to settle. What a night. Finally, he reached to the bedside table and found a handkerchief. Not very clean, but it was only going to get dirtier. He wiped himself off as best he could, settled back, all his muscles suddenly lax and heavy. He would sleep _now_. He wiped a hand over his face, laughed at himself. All his worry. He need not have worried. Everything would be alright. He wriggled more comfortably into his pillows. He could feel the bones of his shoulder blades against the mattress, knew they would be sore in the morning. So would his shoulder. He could not care. He felt sleepy and settled for the first time all day, and it was all thanks to Theo. What a friend. He yawned, pulled the covers up a little higher around his chin. The rain was a distant drumming, soothing. Perhaps it would be brighter tomorrow. He drifted, his breathing settling into a rhythm with the rain, thought sleepily of Theo in his own little bed in the dark, listening to the same rain, warm and heavy limbed, lulled into the same sleep that was drawing Clive under. 

 

* * * * * * * 

 

Footnotes:

1 I did not think

2 Rain, eh? I am going - 

3 What's this?

4 Clive, your German is terrible

5 Clive, may I borrow these? I have read everything in the Library.

6 out of sorts

7 Rest for a minute, yes?

8 It is bad, your neck

9 It's okay.

10 Good!

11 Ah, Clive, I forgot these earlier.

12 Will you not sit down?

13 Did you get some sleep?

14 Another duel, yes?

15 No, you're right, Clive. (informal)

16 Boxing? No, not good either.

17 Wrestling!

18 Is it strong enough?

19 Ready?

20 Give up?

21 Better?

22 Why are you smiling?

23 You punched him down the stairs, didn't you?

24 Oh Clive, your German. Scandalous.

25 You idiot. (informal)

26 It was an  _excellent_ punch.

27 It's time - 

**Author's Note:**

> An extra note on the German (for anyone who doesn't know): like a lot of languages (but not English) there is formal and informal German. Clive and Theo in the film (in one scene, in front of Nurse Erna) use 'Sie' for 'you', which is the formal version. 'Du' is the informal, used for close friends, relatives, and suchlike. The eagle eyed will notice that Theo uses 'Sie', but slips a couple of times here, and uses 'du'. It's his slip, not mine. 
> 
> Fic research takes you to the most unexpected places. I now know more than I ever expected to about Greco-Roman Wrestling and The Boer War, but it's still not much. 
> 
> A zillion thanks to both my partner-in-crime jennytheshipper for her rigorous, encouraging and enthusiastic beta work and to tea-with-theo for ensuring that Theo's German is not as laughable as Clive's (and mine). And for very helpful flailing encouragement. Any mistakes are definitely mine.
> 
> A special thanks to Sandor Barinkay's trousers for being so inspirational.
> 
> And of course, all the thanks in the world to Micky and Emeric (and Roger and Anton) for the gift of these two in the first place.


End file.
